


Angel's Lullaby

by Odessa94



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8897257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odessa94/pseuds/Odessa94
Summary: Also on my Fanfiction.net account. Based on Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss. John goes through a depression and finally gives up. Sherlock returns after he receives a text. A text of John's farewell to him. One-shot. This story has not been Beta'd so there may be some mistakes.~O94~





	

**Author's Note:**

> *First written in 2013*

Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket and he reached for it. He flipped it open and almost dropped it when he read the text. But he ended up collapsing to his knees, wet tears running down in cheeks. He immediately called Mycroft, "Mycroft! Get John! Now please!" he shouted into the phone and Mycroft couldn't refuse the distressed sound in his brother's voice. So he rushed to Baker Street as fast as he could.

When he walked into 221B Baker Street, he found himself in an armful of Mis. Hudson. Tears were pouring from her eyes as she mumbled something about John. Mycroft rushed up the stairs and found a crumpled note on the ground.

'This is my note. I can't so this without Sherlock. Nothing means anything without him. He was my friend and my life savior.'

Mycroft suddenly grew worried and very much concerned. He rushed up to John's room, only to find John laying on his bed like he was asleep. Mycroft reached out and felt the cold flesh. Then he noticed the phone in John's outstretched arm. It had a notice that said message sent. Mycroft took the phone and unlocked the phone. He opened the sent message, which was sent to Sherlock.

It read, 'I know you are dead Sherlock, but I can't keep living like this life constantly hurting because I couldn't help you. It feels like I failed you because I couldn't keep you alive. You saved me yet I couldn't return it with me saving you. Forgive me and I hope to see you soon.' Mycroft shook his head disappointed. He would have never known John would go this far. This is the thing you can't deduce when someone is on the break and unpredictable. He rolled John onto his back, seeing his eyes closed and mouth gapped like he was breathing softly in. Mycroft checked him over, pulling up his sleeve, "Oh no John. No." Mycroft gasped when he saw the single red mark in the cease of his elbow. Of course, he was a doctor so he knew his poisons. Mycroft could feel his composure collapsing. Sherlock would be devastated and heartbroken. "I'm so sorry Sherlock." He whispered into the air.

Sherlock finally got the text when he had gotten off the private jet his brother had sent to him. He got into the car and raced to 221B Baker Street as fast as he could. People where already there and there were grim faces upon Lestrade and Dimmock and when he encountered Mycroft, he broke down. The look on his face told Sherlock all he needed to know. He fell to his knees but Mycroft caught him, only to have Sherlock weep into his shoulder. Mycroft held his little brother and did his best to comfort him. He had been wrong about his brother being heartless. It had been John all along and he didn't know it until now.

"I tried so hard to keep him safe. I should have come home when I had the chance. Why did I take it. Dammit why?" Sherlock scolded himself, body shaking violently. Mycroft could only close his eyes hurt. He hurt for his brother and for John. It wont be the last time he'll feel the hurt.

Months later, it finally happened. Sherlock had taken up drinking instead of smoking,. He took no cases for he remained dead to everyone and everything else. He always walked to John's grave, which was underneath a willow in the Holmes section, next to the stone that read Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock constantly glared at the black stone because it was the reason he lost his friend.

One day, Sherlock was talking to John when his cold composure finally collapsed without warning, " Dammit John. I loved you!" He screamed crying into his hands and his knees finally gave way underneath him. "I still love you John. God, I keep this up. I saved you from Moriarty but I-." He sobbed more, doubled over in front of John's grave.

The next morning, Mycroft came over to check on his baby brother, when he found the one thing he dreaded with a passion. The flat was disaster. A liquor bottle had been thrown at the mirror, breaking it and the room was a mess from papers and books and other things being thrown about. It was a mad rage that set this off. And it was Sherlock's work, Mycroft deduced grimly. Even before he stepped foot into his brother's room, he felt the grief of having to bury another family member.

The room was dim when he walked in but he saw Sherlock's body on the bed, only he was half hanging off. Then something caught Mycroft's eye. He bent down to see a photograph in Sherlock's dangling hand. It was one with John in it. He was happy and was standing with Sherlock on day during Christmas. Both were smiling and laughing.

Mycroft sighed heavily, falling back onto the floor. His own tears coming as he refused to fight against them. He stared up at the limp form on the bed, before letting sentiment take him. He stood and scooped up his baby brother into his arms and held him there. Sherlock's face rested against his shoulder like he was asleep and Mycroft stroked the curly locks as he cried into them. He could also smell the alcohol on him. Then he called DI Gregory Lestrade.

Soon the older man was there, along with a squad of paramedics. Even Molly Hooper came. Everyone who knew Sherlock was completely shocked, even the imbeciles Sally and Anderson. When they saw the body being pulled out on a stretcher, Sally had covered her mouth and Anderson was wide eyed. Mycroft and Lestrade stood there together silently. No one knew it was coming until it was too late.

In the days that followed, Mycroft had all the arrangements for Sherlock's funeral- again. Everything was set and the day came. Mycroft, Lestrade, Mike, and Dimmock helped lower the casket into the ground. Molly, Mis. Hudson, and John's sister Harry, her wife Clara, and their adopted son stood watching.

Harry glanced at her brother's grave a few feet away and little Alexander followed her glaze. He glanced up at her again, "Is that Uncle John?" His small voice asked and she nodded numbly, turning to follow everyone else to the cars as they ended the ceremony. Alexander stopped suddenly, glancing back at the two graves. He saw two men looking at each other and then they raced towards each other. They embraced each other in a tight hug.

Sherlock held John to him as if for dear life. He cried happy tears and he kissed the man in front of him. John returned it happily as they stood between the two black stones. Alexander watched a few more seconds before darting off for his mothers'.


End file.
